


until i'm nothing but bones in the ground

by smallblueandloud



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (also the 13rose is pretty background since she's - you know - in another universe, (and also yaz/ryan can be read as pre-relationship if you want but they can also be purely platonic), Canon Compliant, Gen, Post-Season/Series 11, The Year That Never Was (Doctor Who), and other assorted things - but mostly the doctor abandoning people, but it's definitely there and present and i ship them a lot), do with that what you will, featuring my feelings about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallblueandloud/pseuds/smallblueandloud
Summary: “Who are you people?” asks Martha’s husband, moving closer to Martha. “Do I know them?” he says in a stage whisper, smiling and kissing her cheek.Martha grins, pushing at his chest. “No, you big goof. This is Yaz and Ryan, and Graham,” she says, gesturing at each of them in turn. “This is my husband Mickey, as you probably figured.” Ryan smiles and Yaz waves, subdued. Graham does a small salute with two fingers.“Nice to meet you all,” says Mickey, lifting the grocery bags awkwardly. “I’d shake your hands, but-”“Yeah, of course,” says Graham. Martha is smiling still, but it looks strained.“And of course, Mickey,” she says, trying to look casual and failing utterly, “you already know the Doctor.”(or, the tardis tricks thirteen into confronting her past and everybody has some chats)





	until i'm nothing but bones in the ground

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from _always gold_ by radical face, which seems to fit the theme of this story (lyrics- and overall mood-wise) remarkably well considering i found it about two weeks ago. for the best possible experience, listen to it while reading. (and then listen to it while not reading, because it's a wonderful song in its own right.) see if you can get as emotional about this title as i am.

On the day after they’ve stopped the Dalek from destroying the Earth, Yaz walks into the console room.

She already feels like nothing happened.

Well, not nothing - but not anything notable either. Ryan and his dad nearly _died_ , but the Doctor’s back at the helm of the TARDIS, and Ryan and Graham are there, too, same as always. Graham is asking the Doctor about the latest historical mystery he’s found and whether she knows what really happened, an ongoing game of theirs. Ryan is halfway through a piece of toast and deep into a book on fantasy, sitting on one of the orange seats that appeared a few months into their stay.

Huh.

She missed breakfast, apparently.

She probably should be concerned that she’s feeling so blasé about what happened, that all she’s concerned about is her bloody _breakfast_ , but these sorts of occurrences are near-weekly for them at this point. Almost daily, in fact, which definitely wasn’t how she imagined travelling across the universe was going to be like.

But regardless of what she expected, this _is_ a normal day, with the Doctor saying something surprisingly personal about Cleopatra on her right and Ryan crunching the toast he always burns on her left. Graham always looks at the center column like it’s the most magical thing he’s ever seen and Yaz is the one who notices that he does.

He’s doing it at this very moment, in fact. Or wait- he’s not looking at the column, but at a blinking red light on the console-

Before Yaz can process what she’s seeing, the room tilts sideways, then goes the other way, the familiar noise of the TARDIS sounding grating and too loud. The Doctor and Graham each grab a railing and Yaz braces herself against the doorway that she hasn’t moved from. Ryan manages to stay on his seat, but his toast goes flying. The room keeps rocking.

“What’s going on?” she shouts over the grinding noise, ready to make her way to the console, but the Doctor throws a hand in her direction and she stays where she is. “Not sure! It’s like she’s flying herself, or something, but she _never_ does that. Well, there was-”

“Not the time, Doctor!” calls Graham. “What can we do?”

“We can’t do anything but wait her out-” starts the Doctor, but before she finishes speaking, the motion has stopped, even though the sound remains. The Doctor glances at a display and her eyes widen. “Everybody out, now!”

They all get to their feet and follow her, Yaz right behind Ryan right behind Graham. Sure enough, when she’s halfway up the ramp, the noise seems to catch, like a gear on a bike does right before you fall, and black smoke belches out of the hatch under the console where the Doctor seems to spend half her time. Yaz is coughing too hard to get words out by the time she makes it to the door, the last one out. The Doctor slams it closed behind her and stands there, panting.

“Where do you think we are?” asks Graham. Ryan is already walking away, towards the busy street, by the time Yaz manages to look around. They’ve landed in a park, somewhere, with kids playing about five meters away and grass below their feet. It all seems vaguely familiar, in the way that all of England started to, about two months into their travels with the Doctor. So they’re in England, probably. Huh.

Another rare thing: visiting Earth twice in two days. _Something’s off about this,_ she thinks.

Ryan glances both ways down the street, standing near the edge of the pavement, and then turns to walk back. “It’s definitely Earth,” he says, rejoining the group. The Doctor sticks her finger into her mouth and then holds it up, the way one does to get the direction of the wind.

“Early 21st century,” she says, and then: “We’re in Cardiff.” No one questions how she knows this, but then again, no one’s asked about how she does anything else. There’s something that tightens in her face when she says it, though, something out of the ordinary. Yaz files it away for future reference.

“Then I’ll call my mum,” says Yaz. “I didn’t say anything to her yesterday, and I should probably make sure she isn’t calling the police-”

She stops here because she’s just reached into her very empty pocket and realized that she was _not_ prepared to come to Earth today. Her mobile, wallet, and everything else needed on Earth is in her room, in the TARDIS. It’s standard protocol most of the time, because they’re useless weight at best and things that make them targets for thieves at worst, on every other planet.

It’s not like they come to Earth every day, after all.

Ryan sees her expression and frantically pats down his pockets. He doesn’t have anything, either.

“Doctor,” she says. The Doctor’s already noticed her expression, and turns around to pull on the handle of the door. She pulls again, harder this time. The door doesn’t budge.

“Could it be sticking?” asks Graham. The Doctor takes out the sonic and scans the handle, but then, just as quickly, abandons that effort and hits herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand. “Gah! Wood, of course.” She turns again, leaning her full body weight back with her hands behind her. “And no, Graham, it’s not sticking. Her door doesn’t _stick_. She’s locked it on purpose.”

“I didn’t even know they locked,” he says. The Doctor smiles, immediately distracted by a new story. “Oh yes, the TARDIS’s doors are very secure. They once held up against the assembled hordes of Genghis Khan, in fact.”

Then she frowns. “Why would she be locking us out, though? She knows we’re not enemies.”

Yaz has been meaning to ask for weeks now about how sentient the TARDIS really is. She supposes this answers the question rather neatly.

“Maybe she doesn’t want us in the smoke,” she says. The Doctor frowns again, harder this time. “But if she wanted to vent it, she’d need to open them eventually. She’s definitely doing this for a reason, I just can’t think of it.” She lets that sit for a moment, then launches off from the doors, spreading her arms wide before spinning to face them again. “Oh, well. Can’t be helped!”

“Hold on,” says Ryan. “We’re locked out of the TARDIS, on Earth, with no phones, no wallets, and no clue where the date is. That can’t be good.”

“Ah, we’ll be fine,” she says, waving her hand. Graham nods. “Before mobiles, this problem was more common than you’d think. We’ll just ask someone to use their phone for calling your mum, Yaz. She’ll- she can send some money over, or something.”

“Hold on,” says Yaz. “Isn’t there something we can do about the TARDIS? There isn’t- I don’t know, is there some sort of alien mechanic on Earth we can call when we find a phone?” _Not to mention everyone is going to think we’re mental. And probably call the police,_ she thinks. As a police officer herself, she’s not looking forward to having to explain to people who are basically her coworkers that they _honestly_ don’t have their mobiles on them. Or wallets. Or IDs. And that they’re really not crazy.

The Doctor frowns again. “Not that I’ve spoken to in a long time. There’s one in the area, but- no. We should get going.” She starts walking, and Yaz and Graham follow her dutifully, but Ryan stays still.

“Hold on,” he says. “There are mechanics for alien ships? On Earth?”

“There are _aliens_ on Earth, Ryan,” says the Doctor, without turning around. “Keep up!”

He stays there for a few more seconds, and although Yaz can’t see him, she’s sure he’s shaking his head in bewilderment. They all still have those moments, although they’re certainly less frequent now then they used to be. She hangs back to let him catch up, and he jogs to fall into step with her, shooting her a small smile. “I sort of wish I could talk shop with them,” he says, quietly, and Yaz nods in sympathy, slowing down as they catch up to the others.

“I’ve always wanted to come to Cardiff,” says Graham, looking around in front of them. The Doctor claps him on the back. “There we go! That’s the spirit!”

Yaz personally doesn’t see anything remarkable about this part of Cardiff. They’re walking on the pavement, somewhere very residential. It looks just like any other place in Britain.

They round the bend, losing sight of the TARDIS. A row of identical brick houses stretches out in front of them. _That’s Britain for you_ , Yaz thinks. The first time she’d been in America, all of the houses had looked different, and it had taken her a minute to figure out why it felt so weird.

“Which door should we knock on?” she asks, trying not to feel too awkward. A sign on the post between the two rows of their party reads “Stryd Blaidd Drwg,” which, strangely, strikes Yaz as odd for a second - before she realizes the TARDIS hasn’t translated the Welsh the way she usually does.

_She’s in more trouble than we thought,_ thinks Yaz, and thanks her lucky stars they crashed - sorry, _landed_ \- on Earth, in a place where they already spoke the language. Or one of the languages, anyway.

“How about this one?” asks Ryan. “Their car’s still in the driveway. Everyone else is out.”

“Certainly looks like it,” says the Doctor. “Wonder what the big occasion is.”

She leads them up the path to the front door. Yaz is standing slightly to the side, so she can see a 30 something black woman inside, hurrying past the window while she speaks on her phone. “Looks like someone’s home,” she says, “but she seems pretty-”

The Doctor is standing in front of the door, so she can’t see inside. “Awesome!” she says, without waiting to hear Yaz finish, and knocks on the door.

“I hope we aren’t interrupting something,” whispers Ryan, on her right. Yaz nods.

The door opens and the woman steps halfway out, her phone still on her ear. She holds up a finger and says, “Give me a sec, Gwen-”

She brings her phone down onto her shoulder. _I am so sorry,_ thinks Yaz, _but you’re not getting back to that phone call anytime soon._

“Yes, I’m sorry. Can I help you with something?”

Yaz braces herself for the Doctor’s usual barrage of words, which bowls over even the most prepared of people without trying to. She readies her apologies and her sympathetic face, because the only way to get someone to stop panicking is to show them that someone else understands how insane the Time Lord is.

Nothing happens.

Yaz turns to the Doctor, who has turned whiter, if that were possible. Her mouth is hanging open. She hasn’t said anything.

_She hasn’t said anything._

“Has the world ended?” whispers Ryan. Yaz understands the feeling. The Doctor hasn’t stopped talking since they met her.

“Um-” says the woman, and thankfully, Graham steps in.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but we all went out on a family walk and forgot our phones. You know how it is.”

The look the woman is giving him suggests that she really, honestly doesn’t.

“Can we borrow yours, just for a minute?” adds Ryan. The Doctor has regained some of her color, and closed her mouth, at least, but now she’s just blinking rapidly, like a computer that doesn’t know what to do with the information it’s just been given. They can’t exactly ask her what’s wrong, so they just have to hope she’ll work it out herself and stick with their initial (terrible, barely-thought-out) plan.

“ _All_ of you?” asks the woman, doubtfully.

“Yes, that’s us. We’re very absent minded,” says Yaz. Next to her, Ryan nods frantically.

The woman gestures at the Doctor, looking concerned. “Is she okay?” she asks.

Yaz doesn’t quite shrug, because that would look flippant and kind of rude, but she comes close. Thankfully, the Doctor seems to finally realize that there’s people around her, and shakes her head, smiling tightly. “Yes,” she says, “yes, I’m fine, thank you. How are _you_ , Martha?”

The woman blinks once, but doesn’t otherwise react visibly. That says something about a person, something usually good. “I’m sorry,” she says, “have we met?”

“Well,” says the Doctor, making a face, “not really. But I know who you are. Dr. Martha Jones, formerly of UNIT and now - I believe - a freelancer. Probably working with Torchwood. In fact, I’d hazard a guess to say that you’ve got Gwen Cooper on the phone-”

“You’d better come inside,” says the woman, apparently named Dr. Martha Jones, opening the door wider. She steps back to let them all in, pulling her phone off her shoulder. Ryan walks in beside Yaz, nudging her shoulder quietly. She knows he means _how does the Doctor know this woman?_ and to be honest, she doesn’t have an answer.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” she says, to whoever - probably the aforementioned Gwen Cooper, because the Doctor may be foolish but she’s rarely wrong - on the other end of the line. “Something’s come up.”

Without waiting for a response, she hangs up and sets the phone down on the table next to the door, her back to them. The Doctor takes this as a cue to keep talking.

“-and you’re married to Mickey Smith. You’re so cool! You’ve travelled quite a lot, all across the universe - and there was the time with all the walking in that _horrid_ year-”

The Doctor makes a face of sort of fake-looking disgust, but it quickly turns into a real one when Dr. Jones turns around with a gun in her hand. Yaz takes a deep breath and grabs Ryan’s hand. _Here we go again._

This isn’t the first, or second, or third time that someone has threatened them because the Doctor said too much, and it definitely won’t be the last. If Yaz had to guess, she’d say this Dr. Jones person becomes an important figure in Earth history, and the Doctor only knows her through her reputation. Which means that lots of things that _will_ be public knowledge _aren’t_ yet.

That also means that this woman is probably capable of taking care of herself. And disposing of those who threaten her.

_Shit_ , thinks Yaz. _Bloody hell._

“Tell me how you know who I am, and fast,” says Dr. Jones. She’s got a gun pointed at the Doctor, because she’s obviously the biggest threat, but all of them know she can switch targets very quickly. The Doctor sighs.

“Martha,” she says, and there’s- something’s off about her tone. She’s not scared, exactly, but she’s not at ease either, not the way she usually is when this sort of thing happens, because of the _moral high ground_ or whatever. “You should know by now I don’t react well to threats.”

“I don’t know who you are,” says the woman, “but if you know who I am, and what I’ve done, you know I will not _hesitate_ to pull this trigger. Tell me how you know those things.”

“Honestly, it’s like you think I can’t tell the difference between a lethal gun and everything else,” continues the Doctor, like Dr. Jones hadn’t said a word. “Because that’s obviously a stun gun. Fajardian, if I had to guess. Probably got it from Jack Harkness- no, excuse me, _Captain_ Jack Harkness. Did he ever get that vortex manipulator working again? He must have, if he got you one of these. They’ll be cheap in seven hundred years or so, but they’re expensive on the black market, these days. Or any other market, for that matter. Lots of folks like them because they’re one of the only knockouts that don’t leave you feeling hungover when you wake up-”

“Who are you?” asks Dr. Jones again, stepping closer. “Do you want to bet your life on a guess of what this weapon is?” She hasn’t faltered in the face of the Doctor’s rant, and Yaz feels her respect for her rocket upwards, even though she’s still got a gun pointed at all of them.

“We haven’t really met, but you _do_ know who I am,” says the Doctor. She pauses, long enough for Yaz to figure out that she’s gone back to Dr. Jones’ _previous_ question. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me immediately, but you must be keeping track of what I look like, at least. Well, you and Torchwood. And Kate Stewart. And probably the Queen. But that’s besides the point.”

Yaz doesn’t even want to know why the Doctor thinks the Queen would be keeping track of her. She has a bad feeling about her theory that Dr. Jones becomes famous - the Doctor seems to know her personally. Which only makes things _more_ complicated.

“I’d think the talking would clue you in, at least. I haven’t been a talker like this since the last time we met, which was nearly a thousand years ago. Well, I don’t think I was - Amy was good at stopping me, after that, and so was Clara. Bill, not so much. I know I had a gob like this when I knew _you_ \- everyone always told me so. Well, I say everyone-”

Dr. Jones almost drops the gun. Her eyes widen in recognition.

“Oh my god,” she says, and puts her hand on the table as if to hold herself up. “Doctor?”

* * *

“Fam,” says the Doctor eventually, after Dr. Jones seems to recover herself, “this is Dr. Martha Jones, someone who used to travel with me.”

“Hello,” she says, and holds out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” says Ryan, and shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Dr. Jones.”

“Please, call me Martha,” she says. “And your names are?”

“I’m Yaz,” says Yaz. “This is Ryan and Graham. We travel with her now.”

“Always glad to meet someone who knows how to deal with her,” says Graham, smiling warmly. Martha glances at the Doctor. “Is _she_ what you’re using these days?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” asks Ryan, and at Martha’s look, the Doctor shrugs. “When I travelled with Martha, I was using _he._ Time Lords have a different understanding of gender, and even within that, I never really had any sort of preference. With this body, people tend to assume I’m a woman, and I don’t have the time to explain to them that I’m not really one.”

“Why-” starts Yaz, but the Doctor ignores her, walking further into the house. “Martha, this place is beautiful!”

“Thank you,” says Martha, at her side, and Graham follows them. Yaz shoots a look at Ryan. “Did you notice that?”

“How the Doctor ignored your question?” he says, looking back at them. “Yeah.”

“Why would people have assumed she was a man back then?” asks Yaz, and Ryan shrugs. It probably has something to do with the transformation she kept going on about when they met her, when his gran died, but she’s not going to tell them and he’s not going to waste time trying to force her to.

“That’s not the weirdest thing,” he says. “Have you noticed how nervous she looks?” Past the entry hallway, the Doctor is ranting about the decorating trends of the 43rd century, and both Martha and Graham are nodding along, but something’s off. Yaz nods.

“It’s probably something to do with why Martha stopped travelling with her,” she says. “I mean, would you stop?”

“Not for no reason,” he replies, but he’s not concerned. Yaz has always been good at reading people, even though she’s a little pushy, sometimes. It’s always been what he’s liked about her - that and her sense of humor. He’s pretty sure they’ll figure it out, eventually. They always do.

“Let’s go,” she says, and pulls him by the hand she’s still holding ( _oh, right, that’s happening,_ he thinks, and tries not to sweat too much) into the small sitting room where everyone else is. Graham has sat down on one of the couches, but both Martha and the Doctor are still standing.

“Wait a second,” Martha’s saying. “Doctor, how did you find my house? We moved here long after you- you haven’t been keeping track of us, have you?”

“No,” says the Doctor, looking to the side with something like a dark look on her face, before looking back, her usual expression restored. “The TARDIS broke down around the corner- oh, oh, I bet she did that on purpose!” She looks delighted at the prospect, or at least, she _tries_ to. It doesn’t really work on Ryan, but he thinks Martha might be fooled.

“You crashed?” asks Martha. She crosses her arms and grins at her. “I’m not even surprised.”

“It’s rather common,” agrees Graham. “Actually, can you tell us what day it is? We left our phones on the TARDIS.”

“I gathered,” says Martha, smiling. “It’s January 2, 2019. And your phones wouldn’t have been of much use anyway - every network is down, something happened yesterday. Can I get anyone some tea?”

She turns to walk into the kitchen, but then stops and turns around. “Was that you? The networks?”

The Doctor looks to the side again. “Not exactly. We didn’t destroy everything, but we were there.”

“What did? Destroy everything, I mean.”

The Doctor resolutely doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. After a second, Martha exhales. “Oh.”

“It’s been handled,” says the Doctor. “Into a supernova.”

“Good,” says Martha, fiercely.

_Are Daleks that much of an issue?_ thinks Ryan. _Why?_

“That’s good. It deserved nothing better.”

There’s a pause, before Graham breaks the silence. “I’ll- I’ll take some of that tea,” he says, waving his hand awkwardly. “Me too,” says Yaz, and Ryan raises his hand. Martha glances at the Doctor, who nods.

“You should’ve called us,” says Martha, as she enters the kitchen. There’s a horizontal gap in the wall between them, so they can hear her and see her hands from the sitting room, but can’t see her face. “We could’ve helped you.”

“I know,” says the Doctor. “I tried to call Kate Stewart.”

“She was never with us,” says Martha. “And UNIT isn’t doing so great, these days.”

  
“I know that, now,” says the Doctor. “I just-” She stops, and Ryan looks at Yaz, who shrugs. _This is what you were talking about,_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t - just keeps listening.

“-You didn’t want to have to explain why you hadn’t come back,” says Martha. “I know. It’s expected, don’t worry. My feelings aren’t hurt.”

Silence falls. Yaz raises her eyebrows at Ryan significantly, and now it’s his turn to shrug. He doesn’t know the story here, and he wants to, but something in him tells him it’s not the right time. Yaz seems to understand that, because she doesn’t say anything either.

The quiet is broken by the shrill whistling of the kettle. Martha pours the water into the deep burgundy pot she’s pulled out. The Doctor still doesn’t say anything: apparently they’re done with that line of conversation. Ryan realizes, abruptly, that there’s five of them, and walks into the kitchen. “Do you need any help?”

“Not yet, thanks,” says Martha, smiling at him. He smiles back. 

“What do you do as a freelancer?”

“Oh, we find aliens who shouldn’t be on Earth and help them find a way home,” says Martha. “There’s a rift in time and space nearby, which gives us most of our business.”

“Who pays people to catch aliens?”

“The British government.” She winks at him. “Don’t tell anyone.” She’s taken out a spoon and is using it to squeeze the remaining flavor out of the teabag into the pot. 

“That’s... a particular way of making tea,” he says.

“What? Oh, yeah. My husband’s gran used to make it like this. Now he won’t brew it any other way, and somehow I got a taste for it. Help me pour?”

“Sure,” he says, holding the mugs in place as she pours the steaming tea. “You like Star Trek?”

Martha frowns for a second, before glancing down at the red, yellow, and blue mugs with their distinctive badges and chuckling. “No, no, that’s all my husband. I’m more of a detective story person, myself.” She gathers three mugs in her hand and walks into the sitting room.

Ryan looks at the last two mugs, which she clearly intends for him to carry. He sighs, remembering how his gran used to work with him on lifting things like cups and vases, and carefully picks them up. Nothing happens, and he silently sends some love to wherever she is, these days.

“Those stories are fun,” he says, following her out. He hands one to Yaz and keeps one for himself. Martha starts telling his gramps the story behind the mugs, and Yaz is busy trying not to burn her tongue, which means Ryan is the only one who sees the Doctor take a sip of her tea, blanch, and set the mug down like she’s been burned.

The Doctor doesn’t get burned, though - or if she does, she never shows it. Ryan has seen her down boiling water for a bet without blinking and stand in the tundra without a scarf for hours without shivering.

“Are you okay, Doctor?” asks Yaz, who’s followed his gaze, and Martha and Graham stop their conversation to glance back at her. Martha’s in the middle of setting her cup down, and it hits the table a little too heavily when she sees the Doctor’s face.

“Oh,” she breathes, “right,” and then, “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.”

“This is how Mickey’s gran used to make it,” says the Doctor, staring at the cup. Martha nods. “I know.”

“It’s very distinctive,” continues the Doctor, and then she seems to- run out of momentum, or something. Like all of the energy leaves her in a rush.

“I haven’t- had tea like this since-”

“I know,” says Martha. “I know. I’m sorry. I would’ve burned the water, if I had remembered.”

“That’s right!” says the Doctor, glancing upwards and smiling. Although it’s small and sort of sad, it’s the first real smile Ryan has seen from her since she recognized Martha. “You always used to do that. You were rubbish in the kitchen.”

“Mickey’s the only reason why I can make microwave pizza,” says Martha, like she’s telling a secret. “I’m useless without him.”

“Yeah,” says the Doctor, fingering the edge of the mug. “I know what you mean.”

“Uh- what’s going on?” asks Ryan. Martha jumps, and the Doctor closes her eyes. “I mean, we don’t know what you’re talking about, remember?”

“Yes. Of course,” says the Doctor, and then stops talking. Martha shakes her head in her direction, sort of fondly, and then turns to the three of them.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” she says, “but basically, my husband, Mickey, grew up with-”

Before she says anything more, the front door slams open. It sounds like a shot. Ryan jumps. He can hear his pulse thundering in his ears, suddenly. He feels sweat on his palms, and he dries his free hand on his thigh. On his right, Yaz starts to crouch, her hands open and ready. Ryan secures his grip on his mug and considers how much time it would buy to dump the scalding water on whoever’s found them-

“Hey, Mar, I’m home,” says the stranger, walking through the entryway with grocery bags in both hands. Not posed for a fight, not ready to take them in. Martha smiles at him, completely at ease, and Ryan lets out a breath. “Hey, babe.”

_Must be her husband,_ thinks Ryan, and physically forces himself to relax. Next to him, Yaz sinks back into the couch cushions. Ryan glances across the room and sees that even his gramps is breathing heavily. He tries to stop thinking about how quickly he - all of them, really - went into fight-or-flight mode.

(That never used to happen, before they met the Doctor.)

The alien in question is staring at the new man. She hasn’t relaxed like the rest of them.

“Who are you people?” asks Martha’s husband, moving closer to Martha. “Do I know them?” he says in a stage whisper, smiling and kissing her cheek.

Martha grins, pushing at his chest. “No, you big goof. This is Yaz and Ryan, and Graham,” she says, gesturing at each of them in turn. “This is my husband Mickey, as you probably figured.” Ryan smiles and Yaz waves, subdued. Graham does a small salute with two fingers.

“Nice to meet you all,” says Mickey, lifting the bags awkwardly. “I’d shake your hands, but-”

“Yeah, of course,” says Graham. Martha is smiling still, but it looks strained.

“And of course, Mickey,” she says, trying to look casual and failing utterly, “you already know the Doctor.”

The Doctor looks up and half-smiles. For some reason, her glaze is resolutely aimed at the wall behind Mickey instead of his face.

Mickey doesn’t show any real reactions, but air leaves his body in one big gust.

The Doctor pushes her tongue against the back of her teeth.

No one moves.

“Hello, Doctor,” says Mickey. 

The Doctor swallows. “Hello, Mickey.”

“I’d say I’m happy to see you, but-”

“Yeah.”

Yaz leans closer to Ryan to whisper into his ear. “You have no idea what’s going on, right?”

“Right,” he mutters. “I don’t want to ask them, but...”

Martha moves suddenly, going around the coffee table to the other side of the room, where the hallway to the door is. “I’m going to the shop,” she says, and Ryan glances back at the grocery bags Mickey’s still holding. “Does anyone want to join me?”

“Yeah, let’s go to the shop,” says Yaz, just as abruptly, and stands, grabbing Ryan’s hand as she goes. “Come on, Ryan.” Thankfully, she doesn’t go as far as pulling him up, which would definitely not go well for anyone involved, but she does drag him to stand next to Martha once he manages himself.

“Why?” he asks.

Yaz ignores him and looks at Graham, who shakes his head. Ryan can’t help feeling slightly bitter that she takes _his_ refusal at face value.

Martha turns and leaves through the door, holding it open for Yaz (and Ryan in tow) to follow her out before she locks it, leaning her head against the door and closing her eyes. She stays there, motionless, holding her keys in her hand, clearly recovering from whatever just happened.

The key has an odd object on the end of the chain, and Ryan leans closer to look at it. “What’s that?”

At his question, she opens her eyes and glances down at the keychain in her hand. She smiles and jingles it. “This? It’s nothing. Just a key for something that doesn’t work anymore.”

Ryan looks closer. It’s [ a black square encased in some kind of clear plastic ](https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Osterhagen_Key), and it looks nothing like any key he’s ever seen.

“What did it do?” he asks, despite how Yaz squeezes his hand in warning. But Martha doesn’t seem to be offended - she just smiles and closes her fist around the strange black square and its casing.

“It was going to destroy the Earth,” she says, and begins walking down the sidewalk. “Keep up, please!”

* * *

“Why are we leaving?” asks the young man - Ryan, his name is.

Martha feels so _old_ sometimes, even though she isn’t by any reasonable standards. But Ryan really is young, and so is Yaz. Both of them are probably around her age when she first started travelling. Young and hopeful and all too willing to leave responsibilities behind.

Hers caught up to her, though. She finally had to stop running.

( _And start walking,_ she thinks. _That’s ironic. God, you’re hilarious, Martha.)_

“Mickey and the Doctor- there’s a history there,” she says. “She hasn’t- we haven’t seen her in almost ten years. She hasn’t _come back_ in almost ten years. There’s some things-”

She takes a deep breath. She’s been wondering about this since the Doctor mentioned- but she hadn’t wanted to say anything. The Doctor doesn’t like to share, she knows, and everything she shared during Martha’s time with her was from grief too profound to keep inside. She knows the Doctor wouldn’t have wanted her to even _hint_ about anything by asking. But she has to know.

Belatedly, she notices how quickly she’s walking. She forces herself to slow down, clenching her keyring in her hand. She’s usually better about keeping her emotions to herself, but she and Mickey have always been in tune, and she knows he’s furious.

In fact, part of the reason why she’d left was because she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stay objective. She’d have only made the discussion she knows both Mickey and the Doctor need harder. They’ll be getting closure from that - and she needs to get her own from other sources.

“No one else travels with the four of you, right?” she asks. Ryan shakes his head, watching her with careful eyes. Yaz says, “Why do you ask?”

_My husband’s - sister? first love? ex-girlfriend? - was practically married to the alien you travel around time and space with. We last saw her with said alien, and we don’t know if she’s alive or dead or none of the above. Would you please clarify?_

That’ll go over well.

“Just curious. In my time, she never travelled with more than two people at a time, but then there was that time when there were nine people in the TARDIS. I thought she might’ve gotten a taste for it.”

_The young lie to the old, huh, Martha? You used to rage against UNIT for doing the exact same thing._

It’s different. She knows it is.

But she remembers when she was their age, when she was young enough to think that she could fix all of her problems by running away and nearly dying under unknown suns five times a week, and the sympathy is making her feel guiltier about being secretive than it should.

Doing that - travelling - doesn’t fix anything, she knows now. The other reason why she’d left - she’d seen enough in Yaz to know that she’d follow, with Ryan in tow, and she’d wanted a chance to talk to the two younger companions alone.

For their sakes, or for her own?

Honestly, she’s still not sure.

Yaz speaks, finally, interrupting her thoughts.

“What was it like, when you travelled with her?”

Martha sighs. “It was-”

She looks up at the blue sky, the only one she’s ever felt truly comfortable under, the one she’s lived under for almost ten years. She hasn’t left the planet since the last time she saw the Doctor, and she knows she doesn’t regret it. But still- sometimes-

“It was a dream,” she says, and glances down, remembering belatedly that they’re still walking. She steps over a branch on the pavement and keeps thinking. “I wanted everything. I wanted a life on the TARDIS, and my family, and my medical degree. And- I couldn’t do it. I’m not sure anyone can.”

Yaz takes a breath, as if to say something, and then stops. Martha can practically hear the cogs in her brain turning. On her left, Ryan speaks.

“Why not?”

Martha purses her lips and considers. It’s a good day, sunny but not too hot, and she knows the store is still a ways away. They probably shouldn’t have walked, but maybe it’s for the best. Walking is conducive to conversation, isn’t it? And if she can’t handle walking long distances anymore, she’s lost something more profound than, temporarily, her breath.

“She’s wonderful. I’m not going to lie to you. I fancied her when she looked like a man - when she was letting people believe she was a man - and if I were that age again I’d probably fancy her now, looking the way she does. But- I liked exploring the universe, I liked seeing new planets, but I really only travelled to spend time with him. Her. Them. I’m not sure.”

“She said she doesn’t really care,” says Yaz, helpfully. Martha nods tightly. She remembers well enough usually, even if she gets mixed up with pronouns sometimes. And she’s not done.

“But I was greedy. The thing is, she’s- there was this boy I met, once, in 1913, who described her as... what was it... ‘fire and ice and anger’, or something like that. I don’t remember exactly, but the point remains. She sweeps you up in her wake and doesn’t leave survivors, at least not in the metaphoric sense. And you can’t have it on your own terms.”

_Sometimes not in the literal sense._ Which isn’t helpful - she has to stay focused, because this is _important._

“You think it’s just a trip or two, a gap year that no one will ever know about. A chance to escape the drudgery of normal life before you get serious about your job, your family, everything. And you’ll be so much better, won’t you, once you’re done? The thing is, it’s more dangerous than that. Not everybody lives, most of the time, and although the Doctor tries, sometimes she can’t protect you. Things change - you change, and you can’t control it. And that’s assuming you survive at all.”

She stops abruptly. Yaz and Ryan continue for a few more paces before they realized what’s happened and turn to face her. They look unsettled, but they don’t look scared.

Good. That’s good.

(It’s not her job to test the Doctor’s companions, but at the same time, it’s her _right_ to do so. She won’t let these two go off, galavanting across the universe, without knowing what they’re in for.)

(It’s more than anyone ever did for her, after all.)

“I’m not trying to scare you,” she says, willing them to see the sincerity in her eyes. “Please believe me. You just have to keep the lesson I learned in mind.”

“What was it?” asks Yaz. Ryan is silent.

“You don’t need the Doctor,” she says. “You can stay with her forever, if you want; if you make it that long.” 

_Rose, I am so, so sorry._

“But you need to know that you _can_ leave. You need to know that you’re valuable and special and just as good without her. You can make your own life without someone else, much less an immortal alien who’s _terrible_ with emotions.”

_Donna, I am-_

Yaz snorts, and Ryan smiles. “She is rather terrible, isn’t she?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” says Martha, and smiles, finally, because they deserve it, because they will understand, eventually. “I left because I realized that, and I figured out what I wanted to do. And it wasn’t trailing around after the Doctor for the rest of my life. But some people I know - friends of mine - would’ve stayed at it forever. And that’s okay.”

Yaz swallows, the good humor vanishing from her face. “What happened to them?” asks Ryan. Martha feels her smile disappear. She hadn’t meant to mention them - but Donna’s never far from her thoughts, when she thinks of the Doctor. And the ghost of Rose is still haunting her life, even if Martha resents her less these days.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says. She resumes walking, lost in her own thoughts, and unwilling to focus on where her thoughts are headed.

There are trees above the street, now-

“Slow down, please,” says Yaz, and Martha realizes that she’s walking too fast, again. She slows down and lets them catch up.

“Why are Daleks such a big deal?” asks Ryan.

Martha actually stumbles, she’s so surprised. _Do they not understand? Has the Doctor not told them?_ “The killing machines? Shaped like pepper pots?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s not like we haven’t handled races dedicated to killing before. But- When we met the Dalek, the Doctor was acting like it was personal.”

“That’s because it was,” says Martha, without thinking. She hadn’t shared about Rose - it wasn’t her business, it was Mickey’s and Jack’s and the Doctor’s and she didn’t have any right to spill that - and the Daleks are even less her concern.

Survivors, though, of a war - or maybe not a war, because Martha’s never been in a war. But someone evil, really, properly, truly evil, surviving a _revolution_ that should’ve killed them forever, surviving?

She knows the feeling. She knows how _personal_ it feels.

“What do you mean?” asks Yaz. Martha sighs.

“The Doctor was in a war, once. Did she ever tell you about that?”

On either side of her, the two shake their heads.

_Doctor, why are you like this?_

“It was-”

It’s not really Martha’s business.

_Isn’t it? The survivor, the one you can do nothing about, nothing except rage and scream and cry? I know how the Doctor feels. I need to protect these children._

_And he was supposed to have died in the Time War, too._

It’s a fair point.

(Except they’re not children, not after travelling with the Doctor.)

“It was called the Time War,” she says. “Daleks versus Time Lords, and the whole universe was collateral damage. The way she described it, spacetime itself was being ripped apart. And so she- she ended it all. She-”

Martha won’t go that far. She won’t share _that_ much.

“The Daleks were destroyed, but so were all of the other Time Lords. Whenever the Doctor finds another Dalek, it’s just a reminder of the war. She says it makes her feel like the sacrifice of her people was worthless, because one of them survived.”

Yaz and Ryan both stop, this time. It takes Martha a minute to realize they have and backtrack until she reaches them. They’re both silent, processing what she’s just told them. She knows it’s a lot.

She feels a sudden, powerful sense of sympathy for the Doctor.

(Wilf had told her the events of that day, after it had happened.)

(Martha had listened to his story, attentively. She’d reassured him that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done all her could. She’d thanked him for his time, calmly.

Then she’d gone home and smashed half a dozen vases. Mickey had found her sobbing on the carpet in the bedroom, the Osterhagen key she still kept on her keychain - even though it was useless, even though they had ended the program, even though, _even though_ \- in front of her, ready to be used.

_How could I have been so useless?_

She hadn’t even known the Master was back. The Doctor still hasn’t spoken to her about it, or the five other people on Earth who remembered (had _survived_ ) the Year That Never Was. She’s not so angry about the other things, about the abandoning and the no contact and Rose, but _this_ -)

_Five?_ she thinks, her thoughts interrupted.

No, it’s four, now. She always forgets that Jack managed to fix the vortex manipulator and is off in the universe somewhere, after the mess that finished off Torchwood for good.

_...Hold on._

“Have either of you met a Captain Jack Harkness?”

Ryan frowns. Yaz shakes her head. “No, why?”

Martha grins. She’s given them a lot to think about, she knows, and it’s unfair - to her, that she has to do this, and to them, whose only crimes are being curious. But now it’s time for her to indulge in the age-old tradition that must be followed every time companions meet.

Embarrassing the Doctor.

“Have you ever heard of the Face of Boe?” she asks, and lets herself be happy.

* * *

The door swings shut. Somehow, the house feels deathly silent, even though three of them are left inside.

Martha’s smart. It’s one of the reasons why Mickey loves her. She’s smart enough to get a doctorate, survive the Doctor, emotionally, and somehow deal with all of Mickey’s nonsense.

That’s especially important today. She’s smart enough to know that there’s a lot of dirty laundry to air between him and the Doctor _and_ she’s smart enough to get out of the way.

(Mickey has a sneaking suspicion she wanted to have a conversation with the two younger companions, also. But that’s barely his business, and he has an alien to yell at.)

He sighs and sets down the bags he’s still holding. They’ve dug an imprint into his fingers, and he rubs at his left hand with his right, trying to get the blood circulating again, as he sits down on the couch next to the older companion - Graham.

It’s interesting, to Mickey, that he’s stayed. The Doctor he knew wouldn’t have wanted a companion to hear someone else yelling at him, which she _must_ knows is what’s about to happen.

Oh, well. It’s not really his business.

He takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t come here on purpose,” says the Doctor.

He blinks in surprise. His mouth is still open, about to demand- actually, about to demand exactly the information that the Doctor just provided. Unprompted.

That’s... unexpected.

She’s really changed.

Speaking of which-

“Before I start yelling at you - which, rest assured, will be happening - is it _she_ now? Still _he_? What would you prefer?”

The Doctor looks surprised, briefly, before she shrugs. “I don’t mind either way. I know it’s easier for humans to call me a woman in this body, but I honestly don’t have any feelings either way.”

“Sounds good,” says Mickey, feeling like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He takes a deep breath.

“I know what I did was wrong,” she says.

“- _Jesus_ ,” says Mickey, putting his hand on his chest. It’s the second time she’s interrupted him before he’s started to talk, and it’s throwing him off balance. “Let me talk, would you? I don’t need your apologies and I don’t need your excuses. I need you to listen.”

The Doctor nods, looking down at the table, clearly giving him the floor.

He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth and considers.

“It has been _ten years_ ,” he says, finally, feeling the words stick in his throat, weighty as they’ve ever been. He tries not to think about this very often, but he’s angry about this, and he needs her to understand _why._

(He has learned this from experience. Otherwise, she’d just apologize and think everything’s fine.)

( _Experience_ referring, of course, to France and a very disastrous five-and-a-half-hours. Rose had nursed a wound over that one until the very end, and he isn’t going to let that happen to him.)

“Do you understand what that means? I have lived without my best friend - my _sister_ \- for ten years.”

He takes a deep breath and rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s going to have a headache by the end of this.

(The absolute worst part, the part that makes this the hardest, is that the Doctor isn’t even saying anything - she’s just sitting there.)

(Once, she would’ve argued with him. Once, she would’ve never let herself be bested by Rickey the Idiot.)

(Once, Rose was in the room, and they were lucky enough to have her favor to worry about.)

“I don’t even know if she’s alive,” he says, and even though he’s known this for years now, realized that she could be dead for years, his voice _still_ breaks. _Everyone that ever met her loved her, and_ I _met her first,_ he thinks, and tries his level best to stay rational.

“ _Is_ she alive?”

The Doctor looks down. All of the breath leaves him in an instant, and the fear curls in his stomach, sour and unforgiving. All rationality goes out the window, as he begs, actually _begs_ -

“Don’t tell me- no-”

“She’s alive,” she interrupts, looking up again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- yes, she’s alive.”

“Then _where the fuck is she_?” interrupts Mickey, the fear morphing into anger, and god, this feels good. “Why isn’t she here? Where is Rose?”

“Gone!” roars the Doctor. “She _left_ , alright? She chose _him_ and the oh-so-human life he could give her and I am _alone_!”

Mickey stops, then, partially out of satisfaction - he’s finally gotten to the root of it, hasn’t he? - but mostly out of surprise. What _he_ is she talking about? Rose only ever wanted to be in one place, the whole time in Pete’s World - in the TARDIS, with the Doctor, and the universe at her fingertips.

“You-” he starts, and then stops, remembering a human-Time Lord metacrisis and the only reason why Donna isn’t slapping the Doctor in the face at this very second.

He can’t help himself. He laughs.

“I’ve always wondered if anyone would ever understand how terrible it is, being on the other side of a Time Lord’s jealousy,” he says, because this is downright _ironic_ . “Never thought _you’d_ be my company. You’re really jealous of yourself?”

The Doctor seems to shrink in on herself, looking away. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

Mickey cracks a smile. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is. “Because Rose never would’ve chosen. You know that just as well as I do. Rose chose _you_ \- the Doctor - every single time, and I don’t know what she would’ve done about two of you, but I _do_ know that you always did your damndest to ensure she never _got_ to choose you. How’d you convince her to step out of the TARDIS, then? Was it when you were dropping Jackie off?”

“Stop,” says the Doctor.

“No, actually, I won’t,” says Mickey, and remembers every time he’s had this conversation with Martha, the last time he’d seen Jack, the time his computer buddy had practiced her unused psychology degree on him and _this_ had emerged. “Because I am tired of being left behind and I am tired of being dismissed by you. You’re going to tell me exactly what happened to Rose and why she didn’t get to say embarrassing stories at my wedding, the way she and I had always thought she would.”

“Mickey-”

“No, you’re going to listen to me,” says Mickey, and somehow, even with the anger making his voice shake and his vision blurry, he manages to remember Graham’s existence. He turns, slightly, to gauge his mood, and isn’t surprised to see him listening intently. _The Doctor always chooses the smart ones,_ he thinks, and then keeps talking.

“Because you take people, and you chew them up and you spit them out and I _know_ it isn’t your fault - trust me, Doctor, I know you don’t mean it. I know what it’s like to love Rose Tyler and I understand you more than anyone else on this planet does, right now. But it’s _not fair_ to her, and it’s not fair to me, and even though I’m not the clinging idiot from 2005, I am _tired_ of being left behind. Do you understand that?”

He stops, taking a deep breath. “I learned that I didn’t need anyone. I learned that from you, Doctor, and all the times I was left behind - by you, by Rose, by all of my friends when they thought I’d killed her. I learned the hard way that I didn’t need anyone, and it’s a good thing too, because I kept being left behind. It takes strength, to deal with that - I know that. Rose was left behind with me once and she never stopped hurting over it.”

He takes a minute to relish the satisfaction from that particular dig, and then he moves on.

“I know I don’t need you, or Rose, or anyone else. But I also know that it’s a whole lot less miserable when I have people around that I can rely on. And even though you’re probably never going to come back - don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true - I need you to understand this, for everyone else who’s like me, who never signed up for this, whose loved ones are whisked away by you and never seen again.”

Silence. Mickey’s actually managed to get out what he’s been needing to say, for all of these years, and now he barely has any idea what to do. _It’s like drawing poison from a wound,_ Martha had said years ago, on the subject of telling the Doctor how you really felt about them. It’s painful, sure, but afterwards the real healing begins.

“I’m sorry,” says the Doctor. She actually looks _ashamed._ “I mean- yes, I am sorry, and I-”

She stops.

“I’m not very used to apologizing,” she says, finally. “I mean, I apologize plenty to people who are in trouble, but for something that’s my fault?”

“You think everything’s your fault,” says Mickey, immediately.

The Doctor smiles, faintly. “That’s true.”

They sit in silence, again. Then: “I _am_ sorry, though. I’ve never been- I know that I- I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I’m not going to apologize for taking Rose away,” - _fair enough_ , thinks Mickey, _she was suffocating in the life we shared back then_ \- “but I am sorry for calling you an idiot, and dismissing you, and mostly just- being a jerk.”

Mickey sighs. “I wasn’t perfect either. I was annoying, and clingy, and jealous, and-”

“ _Was_?” asks the Doctor. Mickey shoots her a look, but she’s smiling, albeit small. “Too soon?”

“A little,” he admits.

He lets out a long breath, relishing how it feels, without the tension pressing down on his shoulders.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” says the Doctor. “I figured- I regenerated soon after, and I figured it was best just to close that chapter of my life and try to move on.” She laughs, bitterly, leaning her elbows on her thighs and looking down. “I don’t know what I would’ve done, without Martha. I wasn’t trying to move on and I wasn’t trying to heal and- I tried to change a fixed point when I was trying to _forget_ Rose, imagine what I would’ve done, alone and hurting and refusing to move on.”

“I don’t have to.”

The words come out without Mickey meaning them to. The Doctor’s head shoots up to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Mickey hesitates. He’s the only person in this universe who remembers what happened - but he still feels like it isn’t his business.

On the other hand, he was in Rose’s ear the whole time, listening as London died and Jack was lost and the TARDIS slowly died. If it’s not his business, whose is it?

“What did Donna tell you about that universe where she saw Rose?”

The Doctor frowns. “Not much. We were busy trying to save the world, and then- well, you know what happened then.” She pauses. “Wait. How do you know about what happened to Donna?” There’s fear in her eyes, now, and he knows what she thinks happened - Donna remembered, one day, and now all that’s left is a grave and a mourning husband.

“She’s fine,” he says, hurriedly. “Martha went to visit Donna’s family, after, and got the whole story out of them. That was when we really started to worry about Rose. But- I hadn’t met Donna, until the Crucible. I- Rose was in the parallel world for about twenty-four hours, and I was on coms with her the whole time. That’s how I know.”

The Doctor brightens, looking for everything like this is just a normal conversation. _Some things never change_ , Mickey can’t help thinking, and smiles.

“I never even found out what they changed in her life! What happened? Did she beat Steve Jobs to the punch? Did she save people’s lives? Did she marry Lance, the spider-bait?”

Mickey’s smile fades. “No. She never met Lance. She- I don’t know the details. I think she took a different job from the one where she met him, maybe. The TARDIS kept telling Rose something about turning left?”

“Oh. So, how did we meet?” asks the Doctor. Her smile dims for a second before it comes back to full force.

Mickey sighs. “You didn’t.”

“What?” She looks surprised, like she can’t imagine a universe where she didn’t know Donna.

Mickey doesn’t want to remember that universe.

“You went against the Racnoss on your own,” he says, quietly. She still doesn’t understand, so he continues. “You didn’t get out of the flooding in time.”

The penny drops.

“I-?” starts the Doctor, sitting back on the cushions. She looks up. “Donna saved my life, then.”

“She did,” agrees Mickey.

The Doctor sits there, quietly. Mickey does too - he has a lot to think about.

She’s right, after all. If she had decided to dwell, if she had stayed around them and never moved on, she’d probably have ended up doing the same thing that she’d done in the parallel timeline. He knew before that her refusing to acknowledge the past was a coping mechanism, but the facts of it had never hit him this viscerally.

It doesn’t mean she gets a free pass, though. She should’ve told them - at the very least - and maybe stopped by, once in a while. Martha had sent a text to the phone she’d given the Doctor, inviting her to their wedding, for example. The Doctor should’ve been there.

_There has to be some sort of balance,_ Mickey thinks, and then says, “There has to be some sort of balance.”

The Doctor sighs, but doesn’t say anything. He knows she knows what he means, but she’s never been one to compromise, or change even when she knew what she was doing was wrong.

To Mickey’s surprise, someone else _does_ say something. “He’s right, Doc,” says Graham. Mickey had honestly forgotten he was in the room, and the poor man has to be baffled by all of the people and events they’ve mentioned. He himself used to hate it when Rose and the Doctor did that, but Graham doesn’t look too upset. He just looks sympathetic.

“You shouldn’t leave behind every reminder of people you lose. It’s not healthy, and it means you’re in danger of forgetting them.”

The Doctor, surprisingly, laughs, as bitter as Mickey’s ever seen her. “Trust me, Graham, I’m in no danger of forgetting a second of Rose Tyler.”

A lesser man would’ve been phased, but Graham keeps talking. Mickey’s respect for him goes up tenfold.

“Still,” he says, unperturbed. “You’re allowed to pay your respects in your daily life, you know. Out loud. You don’t have to be afraid to remember.”

Mickey half-expects the Doctor to say something witty, or sarcastic, or long-winded in return, but she stays silent. _Curiouser and curiouser_ , he thinks, and then has to stop himself from laughing at his own reference in the middle of this very important moment.

“When I lost Grace, I thought I’d never think about her again. I thought about taking off my wedding ring, leaving our house with all of her things in it, and starting a new life. I thought I’d never recover from the pain of losing her.

“And I don’t think I will ever recover. But it’s mostly not pain, anymore - it’s acceptance. I’m always gonna miss her, Doctor, in the way that I think you’ll always miss your Rose, and I don’t want to lose that. But I can remember her, and I can do what she would’ve wanted - live my life, help people, and stick around for Ryan, because not enough people have done that. And that’s okay.

“It’s okay, Doctor. When you lose someone you love - it’s okay to keep loving them.”

The Doctor takes a shaky breath, and Mickey watches, knowing exactly how she’s feeling and knowing that Graham, somehow, thanks to someone named Grace, does too.

“I’m not sure I know how,” she says, and it sounds like a confession.

“Trust me, Doctor,” says Graham, smiling. “It’s easier than breathing.”

* * *

Five minutes after saying goodbye to Martha and Mickey, two people who understand Graham’s strange, madcap life more than he thought anyone else ever could, they all walk into the console room. It looks the same, not even a little bit sooty, but something feels like it’s changed.

“Well,” says the Doctor, “that was quite a trip!”

Even her usual enthusiasm feels different. Not bad different. Just different.

“It was more fun than I expected,” says Yaz. “Martha had some very interesting things to say.”

“Yeah,” says Ryan. “Why don’t you do this more often, Doctor?”

Graham knows nothing about what happened between Martha, Ryan, and Yaz on the way to the store. All he knows is that they’d come back with a bag full of bananas, which were then very ceremoniously presented to the Doctor, with a snide comment about World War II on Mickey’s part.

He has no clue what that was about, just like a lot of the things that Mickey and the Doctor had discussed. But he’s finding that he’s surprisingly alright with that.

The Doctor pauses in the middle of her usual flourish of motion over the console. “You know what? I don’t know.” She frowns. “I suppose I always worry it’ll go poorly.”

“It went really well today,” says Yaz. “I wish you’d introduce us to some of your other companions.”

“I might,” she allows, and then she smiles, looking slightly nervous. “My companions meeting former ones usually means some sort of perspective change. Did that happen with you? Anyone want to step off board while we’re still on the correct planet?”

“No way!” says Ryan. 

Yaz smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“And you, Graham?” asks the Doctor, turning to him. “You learned an awful lot about me today. Want to take your ticket off while you still can?”

Graham opens his mouth to respond, and then stops, and really looks at the alien in front of him. _There’s_ the fear, the worry that everyone will leave her behind and she’ll be left alone, and the thought that beating them to the punch will somehow make it hurt less.

But he also sees confidence, and love, and a little bit of sadness. His gaze is drawn to movement over her right shoulder, and there, in one of the wall panels, is an image of a blonde girl looking at something off screen. Her gaze is as soft as he’s ever seen, and he knows, somehow, that this is Rose Tyler, looking at the love of her life.

_The Doctor and Rose Tyler in the TARDIS, as it should be,_ Graham thinks, and realizes he has no clue where that phrase came from.

Not knowing everything is just life in the TARDIS, though. And he loves it that way.

“What are we waiting for?”

A smile blooms on the Doctor’s face, and Graham knows, somehow, that she’s going to be okay.

“Upwards and onwards,” says the last of the Time Lords, and pulls the lever. “Next stop: everywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> according to the very first tumblr post i ever made about this story, i started it about six months ago, and i am _so happy_ to be getting it out into the world and OUT of my wips folder.
> 
> no, but seriously, i'm very proud of this story and all of the feelings i got to squeeze into it. i didn't know i felt that strongly about the year that never was or the frankly horrible treatment of mickey - this was intended to be an entirely 13rose fic, if you can believe it, and it was also intended to be about 3k. however, it turns out i can't always write things without plotting and i am definitely incapable of writing a _short_ dw fic, haha.
> 
> anyways. i hope you enjoyed it, and i hope that if you did, you manage to leave kudos/a comment/visit me on tumblr. this story has a [story tag](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-until-i%27m-nothing-but-bones-in-the-ground) (which i always forget to mention, but i'm getting better about it!) and a rather subtle but distinctive leverage reference - props to you if you find it! (it's not very hard, lol.) <3


End file.
